Chapter Fifteen
The house was silent around them, the two of them seeming to be alone in the world. She wondered if this had been a mistake, if she should have kept him at a distance, but as she stared up at him after their kiss she knew it was right to be alone with Alain. To be only with him now.
‘Sandrine,’ he whispered roughly. ‘I’ve missed you for so long.’
He took her face between his hands, holding her lightly, gently, as if she was a rare, precious jewel. His thumbs caressed her cheeks until she dared to look up at him, into his deep, dark eyes, and she fell into him completely. He gave her the most tender, heartbreaking smile.
‘Sandrine,’ he said, and there was so very much in that one word.
‘Yes,’ she answered simply.
His lips met hers, softly at first, as if it were their very first kiss.
A beginning. When she moaned against him, he pressed deeper, the tip of his tongue tracing the curve of her trembling lower lip before he slipped inside, tasting her as if starved for only her.
She felt his fingers slide into her hair, loosening it from its pins and combs, letting it tumble over her shoulders, over his arms. He held her so close, as if he feared she would escape from him.
But she never wanted to be apart from him again. She only wanted this to be real, at last, and she would even deceive herself in the moment to make it so.
He tasted so wonderful, of wine and fruit, and of that essence of only Alain that she craved. She reached for him, dug her fingers into his shoulders and pressed herself against him so tightly nothing could come between them.
He groaned her name against her lips, and his arms closed around her to carry them down to her chaise. Their kiss turned harder, wilder, and something she’d hidden deep inside of herself since they parted all those years ago burst free.
She shoved his coat from his shoulders and he tossed it to the ground. Her shaking fingers unbuttoned his silk waistcoat, untangled his cravat, reached for the hem of his shirt. It caught on his breeches, and they both laughed against each other.
At last, at last, she touched his lean naked chest, running a caress over the silken-warm skin, feeling his muscles tighten at her touch as their lips met in another kiss.
She felt his breath against her, the sheer, vital life of him.
She wanted only to feel all of him, see him, know him as he was now, as he truly was.
His lips slid from hers to kiss her cheek, the pulse that beat so frantically at her temple.
The sigh of his breath against her ear made her tremble.
He traced a fiery ribbon of open-mouthed kisses, butterfly light, along her arched neck, and drew away the lace edge of her gown to kiss the curve of her shoulder, the sensitive swell of her breast.
‘Alain,’ she sighed.
As if that whisper, so filled with longing, unleashed something inside of him, he pulled hard at her gown, snapping the little pearl fastenings. Her stays, her chemise followed, his breath heavy. She lay beneath him in only her stockings, not scared or shy, but only longing.
Such a wondrous sense of freedom swept over her as his eyes hungrily took in every inch of her. She stretched her arms above her head and arched her body against his, enticing him back to her.
He tore off the last of his clothes, making her laugh in delight at his hunger that matched her own. He was leaner now, harder, but more handsome, more alluring, than ever. He lowered himself over her, their bodies pressed together, entwining.
His head, with its dark, tangled curls, bent towards her and his kisses were pressed, one after the other, to her breast, her waist, and up again.
Until at last his mouth closed over her aching nipple, his tongue swirling expertly around its tip, his teeth catching it.
Sandrine gasped, and twined her fingers in his hair to hold him against her.
She wrapped her legs around his hips as his mouth moved to her other breast, kissing, tasting, until she couldn’t breathe at all, could remember nothing but him.
Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt his rough palm slide over her ribs, the flare of her hip.
His fingers feathered lightly over her skin, teasing, closer and closer to the aching core of her but then inching teasingly away.
Her head fell back against the cushions, a flood of heated emotions rushing over her. She arched under the delight of his hands, his mouth. She felt as if she was awakening at last. ‘Please, Alain!’ she sobbed. ‘Maintenant!’
With a rough laugh, he gave her what she wanted, what they both wanted. One finger slid deep inside of her, his thumb lightly brushing that one most sensitive spot.
‘Do you like that, chèrie?’ he said hoarsely, his kiss sliding over her neck again. ‘Shall I touch you just—there again?’ And there was that spot again, making her cry out. He knew her far too well.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, and almost sobbed at the glorious sensation only he could bring. ‘Alain, please.’
His eyes watched her as if she were the only thing in all the world, his face intense, focused, pained.
Suddenly, as if he could bear it no longer, his hands closed hard on her waist and he turned her over.
She braced her palms on the velvet cushions and felt his hands drawing her hips up and back, under his mastery.
She spread her legs further apart and cried out as he thrust into her.
Being joined with him again felt so right, so perfect. She arched back against him to bring him even closer.
‘Sandrine,’ he murmured. He held her hips and began to move, a fast, hard, hungry rhythm punctuated by their mingled harsh breaths, the slide of skin against skin. They found their pattern together, moving as one.
She closed her eyes tightly and revelled in every movement, every feeling of him against her.
That hot pleasure she once remembered from their wedding night was now increased a hundredfold, gathering in a tight knot deep inside of her, expanding with every movement.
She reached for it, desperate, closer, closer, until it burst and she was showered with a rain of hot, wild joy.
Behind her, Alain shouted out, and she felt his body go taut and still against her. He gave one more hard thrust, then whispered her name over and over. They tumbled off the chaise and to the floor, laughing, exhilarated.
He collapsed beside her on his back, his forearm flung over his eyes.
His hair clung damply to his brow, and he looked exhausted, replete, the god Mars in repose.
His free hand slid over hers, their fingers twining as they just lay there together in silence for long, perfect moments.
The rest of the world was gone; worries, the past, everything floating away in that golden haze.
Alain raised her fingers to his lips and pressed a long kiss to them, the silence wrapping around them. She rested her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and fell into the most peaceful sleep she’d known in years and years. She was safe with him.
Alain woke into darkness, the only light starlight sparkling through the window onto Sandrine’s tumble of hair.
She snuggled closer to him, and he was caught by that instant of trust and tenderness, by her beauty.
He couldn’t bear to wake her, and he gently lifted her to carry her to the comfort of her bed. To be with her just a little longer.
He couldn’t go back to sleep, even as the stars blinked on and off in the purple-blue sky beyond her window, and the moon crept higher above the sleeping roofs of Bath. The golden glow of it cast a shimmering, soft light over Sandrine’s sleeping face, and he couldn’t look away from her.
When she was awake, there was always a trace of wariness in her expression, a caution in her cool smile.
She kept her feelings, her true thoughts, tucked safely behind her lovely face, unlike the eager girl he’d once known.
And that was his fault. But now, asleep, she smiled softly in her dreams, a sweet serenity making her seem younger, freer.
He wanted only to help her be that way all the time.
Her hair tumbled in a dark cloud over her pale shoulders, a rich, waving tangle, and he longed to bury his face in that rose-scented silk, be caught in her so he could never lose her again. He reached up a trembling finger to touch her cheek.
She sighed in her sleep, and nestled her cheek into his hand, a tiny, trusting movement that made his heart stutter. He wanted only to earn her trust all the time, earn a place in her life, hers and Marie’s. But how could he be worthy of them now?
She turned in her dreams, her smile flickering. She was so beautiful he couldn’t bear it. He smoothed the satin blankets over her shoulders, softly kissed her forehead, and slid from the bed.
As he tugged on his shirt and breeches, he studied the chamber around him. Like the sitting room, it looked just like her, elegant and comfortable, lived-in. It was a real family home.
Leaving her peacefully sleeping, he slipped out onto the landing.
The house was silent, wrapped thickly with peaceful sleep, and the air smelled of lilies and roses.
He tiptoed down to explore the moonlit drawing room, the little library that held rows of leather-bound volumes, the dining room that still seemed to hold echoes of Sandrine’s laughter, the lovely life she had created.
He saw the art on the walls, flowerscapes that held her touch, French scenes; the jumble of dolls and hoops that were Marie’s.
That house gave him such a feeling of yearning.
Like her bedchamber, the whole dwelling felt like a part of her.
Elegant, informal, welcoming, filled with just the art and porcelain and colours she liked.
It was a true home. Alain had never had a home of his own, never even considered what one might be like.
His parents’ home had not even seemed to belong to them, too filled with regrets and sadness.
His travels and work had taken him to a succession of rented rooms, hotels, even tents in deserts.
Some shabby, some a little scary, some luxurious, but never his.
Never a place to share, to belong. Never a place where he could be himself.
Sandrine created such spots all around her, wherever she was. Her shop, her house, every party she walked into. People gathered around her, wanted to be near her, just as he did.
He studied a portrait of Marie that hung on the wall, her laughing blue eyes, her beautiful little face, the mischievous spirit that shone out of her. Could he possibly be a good father? A real husband? How he wanted to be only that.
He closed his eyes and pictured how it might be if he lived in this magical little house with two beautiful ladies.
If they all belonged together, with sunny days of laughter, cosy evenings by the fire.
He felt such an ache of yearning, grief, regret, and a new determination.
He realised in that moment that he needed Sandrine, as he had never needed anything else in all the world.
Not just her beauty, the passionate fire of her lovemaking, but her steady intelligence, her gift for making the world peaceful and elegant, her deep knowing. The strength of her.
What could he give her in return? He could give her a strong base for launching all her dreams, if she would let him. He could be a partner, someone who admired and adored her beyond reason. Who saw all the beautiful things she was.
There was a soft footfall behind him, the click of a floorboard, and he glanced over his shoulder.
Sandrine stood there in the doorway, watching him carefully, cautiously.
A dark velvet dressing gown was drawn around her, her dark hair in waves over her shoulders.
It was the most intimate thing he had ever seen, and it was exactly what he wanted to claim, to know for the rest of his days.
‘Alain?’ she said softly. ‘Are you all right?’
And for the first time in—well, the first time ever—he thought he just might be.
‘I am perfect.’ He held out his hand, hoping beyond hope she would take it, that he could no longer be alone. She smiled, and stepped forward to slip her hand into his. Her fingers were soft, warm, steady in his.
He nodded at the portrait. ‘You have captured her spirit so perfectly.’
Her smile turned soft. ‘She is a miracle. So filled with light and joy.’ She paused, tilting her head to glance between him and Marie’s image. ‘Are you greatly angry? That I did not find a way to tell you?’
The silence between them felt tense as he struggled to make sense of his tangled emotions.
‘I might have been, at first. But I know now why you didn’t think you could tell me.
I was so careless, so sure of myself when I was young that I ran over everyone else.
And I am sorry I gave you such reason to mistrust me.
My callow foolishness cost me so much time with you and Marie.
I will always be angry with myself for that. ’
She squeezed his hand in the silence after that painful confession. ‘Let’s go back to bed,’ she said simply, and tugged at his hand to draw him with her. He’d never known such a rush of perfect happiness, such raw hope, in just that one small moment.